Nothing Left to Say
by lucawindmover
Summary: Set between 3a and 3b, Stiles doesn't wake from the triple sacrifice and is instead stuck in a supernatural coma. Two years later, he awakens to find his friends in the midst of a fight for their lives and to the realization that not all of them still have lives to fight for. (multiple pairings, character death)
1. Prologue

"Nothing Left to Say"

Lucawindmover

Prologue

" _The shadows on my wall don't sleep. They keep calling me…Beckoning…"_

 _Imagine Dragons "Nothing Left to Say"_

* * *

Stiles Stilinski expected to feel like he was drowning.

He'd researched it once. During one of his hyper-attentive episodes when he should have been doing math homework or studying for his chemistry test, he'd read for hours about drowning instead. His father called him a procrastinator and was frustrated with the C average Stiles continued to pull in most of his classes. If he'd spent half the time on his homework that he spent learning every detail about things as ridiculous as traumatic death or the deciduous tree life cycle or the complete history of circumcision, maybe he'd manage an A or two.

Stiles did research to calm his mind, to keep his hands from shaking, to keep himself on track. He hated his medication for ADHD. He could never sleep right when he took it. Either he was exhausted at all hours of the day or he couldn't sleep at all. Between that and the dry mouth and the sensitive stomach, the side effects weren't worth the marginal increase in his ability to focus. When he could find alternative methods to combat his spastic brain he didn't have to take the medicine. So he researched instead. A lot.

When drowning, a person's first instinct is panic. The panicking usually results in rapid movements that consume oxygen more quickly. Carbon dioxide then builds up in the body which triggers the body's fight or flight response. Eventually an involuntary breath is taken. This causes coughing which leads to more water being ingested. The throat spasms in an attempt to block water from entering the lungs meaning the stomach fills instead. Finally the body loses consciousness and the throat relaxes and water fills the lungs. The whole progression is painful and terrifying. Stiles remembered recounting the process to Ms. Morell in the guidance office once.

So, as the herb-filled, druid sacrifice water closed over his face and Lydia Martin's tiny hands on his shoulders held him under, Stiles expected to feel panic. He knew the process of drowning well enough to assume his body would reject the tight space, the freezing water, the lack of oxygen.

The _nothing_ of it all bothered him far more than the panic would have. He had dealt with panic before. But _nothing_...not so much.

He didn't know how long he'd been floating beneath the surface. He had no means of telling how much time was passing and he was anxious for this part to be over. They had to find the nemeton stump and their parents before Jennifer Black had her way and sacrificed them for power. At the same time **,** he was afraid if he came up too soon he'd ruin the whole ritual. Deaton hadn't given them much to go on. If he was supposed to be waiting on some sign, he was sure he'd missed it.

Eventually the concern for his father became overwhelming and he lurched forward, sloshing through the icy water. Somehow this was exactly the right moment because to either side of him Allison and Scott came up splashing as well.

He might not have been able to feel the oxygen deprivation while he was under the water but now that he'd surfaced his lungs burned with the need to breathe and he took several gasping breaths as he blinked water out of his eyes.

Stiles reached up and pushed his sodden hair back, attempting unsuccessfully to dry his face with an equally wet hand. To his left, Scott was already climbing out of his tub and Stiles scrambled to do the same. He winced slightly as his bare feet hit the cold floor and tightened his grip on the edge of the tub to keep himself from slipping in the puddle accumulating beneath him. The sloshing of water was the only sound in the room as they vacated their tubs and took in their surroundings.

Stiles had never seen so much white in one place before, and this from a kid who'd spent an awful lot of time in hospitals. The room was finite. It had walls and edges. However, as the three of them turned and began moving toward the ancient nemeton stump rising through a section of crumbling tiles, the walls didn't seem to get any closer. They passed under bank after bank of harsh lights, the rows seeming to extend endlessly.

Stiles couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to endure silence for this length of time. He itched to break it somehow. It wouldn't take much…a squeak of his wet foot against the floor, a cough, an ill-timed joke that would somehow both relieve and annoy his friends. But he couldn't. It could have been their dire need to find their parents or some residual effect of the drowning ritual but whatever the cause, Stiles found his tongue felt like lead in his mouth.

Once his eyes had located the stump it had felt like a line through his navel was pulling him forward, an invisible rope drawing him in at a steady pace. He had no desire to fight that tugging sensation and he imagined his friends felt the same way. From the corners of his eyes he could see them moving in much the same manner.

As they neared the nemeton, he and Allison hesitated but Scott didn't. He continued forward, making a connection between the bands of his tattoo with the rings of the tree. He reached down and placed his hand on the stump. For a moment nothing happened. Stiles narrowed his eyes and was about to comment on this when Scott seemed to shimmer, his form blinking in and out a few times before disappearing altogether.

Stiles gaped at the empty space before letting his eyes land on the equally stricken features of Allison next to him. "What the hell was that?" he shouted, gesturing wildly to the space their friend no longer occupied. He expected his voice to echo in the large, empty space and it was disconcerting when it didn't.

"I don't know!" Allison replied, her voice pitched an octave higher than usual. "Was that supposed to happen?"

"We're not even supposed to _be_ here," Stiles answered, balling his shaking hands into fists. "I don't think 'supposed to' applies in this place. Wherever we are."

Allison worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, deliberating. "Maybe we should touch it, too. It might take us to Scott."

She held her hand out and took a step toward the tree but Stiles moved to intercept her immediately. "How do you know that thing didn't _kill_ Scott?" he demanded, his fingers clutching her wrist. "It could have blinked him out of existence, just like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Well we can't just do nothing," Allison countered, gently pulling her wrist free of his grasp.

"I can't let you do _that_ though," Stiles said, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. "He would never forgive me if I let something happen to you."

"He?" she asked with a frown. "You mean Scott?"

Stiles threw his hands up. "Of course I mean Scott."

Allison's face was unreadable as her eyes darted away from his. "Scott is not my protector you know."

"Well he thinks he is," Stiles said, pointing to the stump as if it was Scott. "And it's not just you. He thinks he's supposed to protect everyone."

"He can't _possibly_ do that."

"Yeah well. You try reasoning with him," he said with a sigh. "Because he won't listen to me."

Allison turned away, bumping her closed fists against her thighs, thinking. Stiles couldn't think. He wanted to but his brain felt fuzzy, his chest tight.

"What do you propose we do?" she asked. She was still facing away from him but judging by the crack in her voice and the quick swipe of her hands across her cheeks, she was crying. "We have to find out parents, Stiles. We're running out of time."

Stiles took a deep breath, as deep a breath as his anxiety-constricted lungs would let him. "I'll go," he said, watching as Allison whirled back around. "I'll go next."

Allison regarded him for a moment. "What if you don't come back?" she asked. "What if neither of you come back? You can't just leave me here."

Stiles shrugged. "Then we go through together," he replied. "Or out. Or wherever the hell this thing goes."

Allison furrowed her brow. "Together?"

"Yeah," he said. He gestured for her to give him her hand. "Put your hand like this." He arranged her right hand next to his left, touching from wrist to fingertip. "We go at the same time. Nobody gets left behind."

She smirked which wasn't a whole smile but close enough in Stiles' book. With a last deep breath and his right fist clenching his father's badge, they reached forward together and placed their hands on the rough surface of the stump.

He felt frozen for an instant before blinking his eyes and finding himself somewhere else altogether, Allison nowhere to be seen.

It was the forest, the Beacon Hills Preserve **.** He was out in the woods at night. Stiles turned around at the sound of a voice in the distance in time to see _himself_ run past.

It was a younger version of himself and he immediately recognized this as the night he and Scott had gone looking for trouble and found a lifetime of it. He could hear his father berating the him and calling out for Scott in the darkness. Stiles swallowed hard at the idea of never getting another lecture from his father. If they didn't find the damn stump in the real world it was a likely scenario.

Stiles let the past fade and turned his attention to the search for the nemeton stump. His eyes scanned the darkness as he took a couple of steps backwards and nearly fell on the object in question.

The night Scott became a werewolf they had practically stumbled over the stupid thing. He knew where this was. He would be able to find this on the other side for sure.

"So now what?" he muttered to himself. He put his hands on the stump, expecting to be whisked away again. Maybe to the present forest, the white room, back to the animal clinic. He didn't know where exactly but he expected something.

Instead he got nothing. Not a damn thing.

He turned around and stared into the darkened trees. The voices of the past were gone now, once again only a memory. The usual chorus of night creatures was conspicuously silent and Stiles ground his teeth together in frustration.

Somewhere out there, in the real world, his father was being held captive by the Darach, the dark druid who had posed as their innocent English teacher, Jennifer Blake. He and Melissa McCall and Chris Argent were likely trussed up and waiting their fate as human sacrifices.

What was Stiles doing here? Waiting for some sign to point the way back to the land of the living? His father could be _dying_ right now. Here he was, stuck in a vision of the past, separated from the only other people who could do anything to save them.

As the useless minutes stretched on endlessly, Stiles became restless, pacing there in the sandy earth surrounding the nemeton. He kicked out at the stump, instantly regretting the action as pain radiated up his leg.

It was when he took a seat on the stump, leaning forward to check his foot and make sure nothing was broken, that he heard the whispering. He stilled, listening carefully. The words were just quiet enough that he couldn't understand them. He tilted his ear closer to the stump and found the more he leaned, the louder the words.

"… _she was aware of her heart beating rapidly…had it stopped before…what had…tingling…"_ the whisper said, causing Stiles to start in alarm.

He jerked away from the stump's surface. That was Allison. It was _her_ voice coming from the other side of the stump. What was she doing? What was she talking about? And where the hell _was_ she?

Stiles leaned over to listen again, this time pressing the side of his face against the exposed wood, straining to make sense of her words.

"… _And this feeling of moving with the earth was somewhat like the feeling of being in the ocean, out in the ocean beyond this rising and falling of the breakers, lying on the moving water, pulsing gently with the swells and feeling the gentle, inexorable tug of the moon…"_

Stiles recognized this passage. It was from _A Wrinkle in Time_ , a book he'd read more times than he could count. It had been a favorite of his mother's and before she'd gotten sick the two of them had often stayed up late reading it together.

Before Stiles could process the fact that Allison was somehow quoting his favorite book to him through an ancient tree stump, he was jolted up by a familiar tugging sensation just below his navel.

He stood and backed away from the stump but the feeling didn't waver. He felt like he was being pulled, as if a rope was tied around his hips. It was dragging him away from the stump, step by step. It had to be the same tug that had drawn him _toward_ the stump back in the white room.

Not a rope. A tether. And he wasn't being pulled _away_. He was being pulled _back_ and there was a difference.

It was Lydia. Lydia Martin was at the end, urging him to come back to the other side. He could feel her anxiety traveling across that invisible line and his chest tightened in response. He clamped his eyes shut and stumbled backwards over a root. His back hit the ground with a force that stole the breath from his lungs. He gasped and choked, his head burning at the breathlessness.

"Just open your eyes," Lydia said. He felt her words rather than heard them. They danced behind his eyelids like sparks, blinding him. "Stiles, come on. Please!"

Stiles groaned. He wasn't sure how falling on the ground had entirely disoriented him but his head was spinning and he felt nauseated. "I can't," he grumbled aloud. "I don't feel good."

"I know you don't but you have to do this. We need you," she paused and the space between her words was an unbearable darkness. "Stiles, _I_ need you."

The desperation in her voice stirred him to action and he tried once, twice, three times to fulfill her wishes. He'd do anything for Lydia. He hated to hear her beg. Surely he could open his eyes. His agonizing attempts failed and he took a deep and shuddering breath, tears pooling behind closed lids.

A wordless scream broke the silence across the space between them and that horrifying wail gave him the last push he needed.

He clenched the dry leaves and soil on either side of him and strained his neck forward.

And finally he opened his eyes.

* * *

A/N: Welcome to my newest torture device...I mean story. Yeah. STORY.

This is going to be a very emotional journey guys. The story starts with the characters at the darkest and very worst moments in their lives. But as we know, regression to the mean tends to do it's thing so it can't stay all bad indefinitely.

For those of you who came back and finished Moving in the Dark with me, I can never thank you enough. For those of you who are finding me for the first time, WELCOME! I'm super excited to see what you think.

Posting schedule might be a little erratic. My college schedule is more than a little overloaded this semester. But I have this story fully plotted and outlined and have been brainstorming it for closing in on two years. I can't wait to share all of it with you guys.

Thanks again,

Luca


	2. Chapter 1

"Nothing Left to Say"

Lucawindmover

Chapter One

"Just Enough"

* * *

Allison Argent slouched in the computer chair and swung her legs up so her feet rested on the end of Stiles' bed. She was trying to get more comfortable as she read. It wasn't uncommon for her to occasionally fall asleep sitting here reading and keeping her friend company. Every once in a while she'd wake up in the morning tucked into her bed in the spare room, the sheriff having moved her in the night.

She had come to love John Stilinski in these last two years. He was the father she no longer had and while she didn't replace his comatose son, she did give him someone to commiserate with. Grief had bonded them together.

Grief that had begun two years ago when Stiles would not wake up.

The evening of the eclipse had been one disaster after another. She and Scott had awoken simultaneously, breaking the surface of the lukewarm water eighteen hours after they'd gone under, with the knowledge of where the nemeton stump could be found.

Deaton had expected all three of them to come back together. When Stiles continued to linger in unconsciousness, worried was not a strong enough word for how Scott reacted. After about fifteen minutes of pacing he jerked his best friend up and out of the water.

At first they feared he was dead. Scott pressed his ear to Stiles' chest and refused to be moved for several long minutes until finally Stiles' heart thumped. Once.

Deaton determined Stiles was in a supernaturally induced coma of unknown origin. His body was doing what it could to keep him technically alive but with his consciousness not present on this plane.

Allison remembered watching a devastated Scott attempt to choose between his best friend and his responsibility to find their parents. In the end he sent Allison with Isaac to find the root cellar, Lydia with Aiden to intercept Kali at Derek's loft, and Scott left to meet with Deucalion. With everyone distracted by Stiles lying comatose back at the animal clinic, absolutely nothing went according to plan.

Allison cleared her throat and went back to reading. "I am asleep; I am dreaming, she thought. I'm having a nightmare. I want to wake up. Let me wake up."

"How many times have you read this one?"

Allison jumped, her heart racing as she turned to see the sheriff leaning in the doorway. She smirked and marked her place before closing the book. "I don't know. I've lost count at this point," she answered. "I might have the whole thing memorized."

Sheriff Stilinski smiled and stepped into the room and made his way over to check on his son.

Stiles looked like he was sleeping. His breathing and heart rate were so slow as to not even register on modern medical equipment. During a period of observation it was determined his body didn't require any nourishment nor did it create any waste. After the first year of this stasis, Deaton revealed his theory that Stiles wasn't aging either. If he woke up, he'd probably still be on the cusp of seventeen, mentally and physically.

If. _If_ wasn't an eventuality any of them were prepared to handle, even after all this time.

Sheriff Stilinski reached down and straightened the blanket on the bed, tucking the fabric around Stiles' chest. "I just came by to tell you I'm heading back to the station," he said. Allison wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to his son.

"I didn't think you were on the night shift anymore," Allison ventured.

He shrugged and stood back up. He shoved his hands into his pockets but his eyes never left the bed. "I'm not. It's just for tonight because…" he trailed off, letting his gaze flicker up to hers. "Well, you know."

She nodded. She did know. It was the anniversary of the night they'd all lost someone. Tonight marked two years since Jennifer Blake won and achieved all that her heart desired.

Two years. Allisonunderstood why the sheriff would rather work than dwell on what had been lost. It was why she was in here with Stiles at nearly midnight when she had things to do in the morning.

Sheriff Stilinski bid her goodnight and Allison leaned back in the chair again, propping her feet up and getting comfortable.

She read to herself for a bit after that. The pages beneath her fingers were battered and stained, the book's spine cracked, the cover ripped and frayed. In those first days after their lives had been irrevocably changed, Allison had remained in the hospital, recovering from her injuries. After her release, she struggled to find anything useful to do and somewhere besides the apartment she'd shared with her father. She'd lost him, her first love had been forced to move to San Francisco, both her new love and her best friend were gone…grief had never been a strong enough word to express the aching hole in her chest.

Not to mention the literal aching in her chest from the two broken ribs she sustained when the root cellar collapsed.

Stiles and his father were all she had left and she didn't know how to help either of them. On the afternoon she'd been released from the hospital, she'd come to visit Stiles and realized she had nothing to say to him. She ended up searching Stiles' bookshelf for something to read instead and found a well-read copy of _A Wrinkle in Time_. In movies and on television it always seemed like people read to coma patients. Allison had no idea why or whether or not it helped but when faced with nothing else to do she decided to give it a try.

After the first few days of reading she realized the activity was probably doing more to comfort her than it was doing to comfort Stiles. In fact, that was likely the point.

She hadn't let the sheriff catch her at it at first. She didn't know how he'd feel about her rummaging through his son's things to find the book. It wasn't until she'd fallen asleep one evening and had woken the next morning in the guest bedroom that they'd finally talked about it.

 _Allison made her way downstairs to where Sheriff Stilinski was sitting at the dining room table in off-duty clothes with a steaming mug of coffee between his hands._

 _He looked up as she approached. "There's more of this in the kitchen if you want some," he said._

 _Allison shook her head as she sank into the chair across from him. She was horrified that she'd fallen asleep at his house. She had imposed on him enough at this point. She wasn't going to take his coffee too._

" _I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to spend the night."_

 _He waved off her apology. "Don't worry about it."_

 _The silence between them was stiff and awkward. Allison had just about decided to leave when he broke the moment._

" _Look," he said, putting his coffee to the side and clasping his hands on the table in front of him. "I get the impression you'd rather not go home, am I right?"_

 _She nodded. When she wasn't at the Stilinski's she had split her time between the public library, the cemetery, and the parking lot of her building. Anywhere she could find to keep from actually going home. She didn't know how the sheriff knew but then again, he_ was _the sheriff. He was far more intuitive than most people gave him credit for._

 _With a heavy sigh, he continued. "I've burned through my personal leave but I don't want to go back to work and have Stiles be here alone. I can't hire a nurse because any normal person would freak out. You know. Because he's…"_

" _Barely alive?" Allison supplied with a grimace._

" _Exactly," he replied. "Anyway, how would you feel about staying with him while I'm at work? And you could have the guest room too. You know. If you want."_

 _She didn't even have to think about it. Of course she would stay with Stiles. He was the last friend she had in Beacon Hills. She didn't know if the sheriff realized how much this offer meant to her. She was sure she'd never be able to repay him._

Allison looked up from the page she was reading. She'd been lost in memories and hadn't actually processed any of the last few pages. Her eyes were tired and gritty and she knew she needed to go to bed. She closed the book and stood, pushing the computer chair back over to the desk. As always, Stiles remained unresponsive despite the noise she made. She turned out the light but left his bedroom door open, an irrationally hopeful gesture she'd been entirely unable to abandon.

Over the last few years the spare bedroom had definitely become hers. From the clothes hanging in the closet to the curtains at the window and the clutter on the side table, this was absolutely a girl's room. Eventually she'd been able to return home. She'd needed to go back for clothes and things. The apartment had been hers since her father died. She had already been eighteen at the time of her father's death. Chris Argent's will and life insurance policy had been clear. Allison would have a place to live and be well taken care of in the event of his death.

She had slowly begun to pack things up. She brought clothes, books, and keepsakes a little at a time back to the Stilinski's but most everything else was still in various states of boxed-up. The apartment looked more like a storage unit than a living space these days. It seemed fitting given no one actually lived there anymore.

As Allison riffled through her drawer to gather something to sleep in, her fingers brushed a lacrosse jersey and she jerked back as if she'd been burned. She clenched the edge of the drawer and took a deep, calming breath. Scott had given her that jersey, Isaac's number fourteen. He'd found it when he and his father were packing up the house to move. Scott told her Isaac would have wanted her to have it. In reality, Allison was sure Scott found it too painful to hold onto the jersey himself and yet didn't want to throw it out.

Scott didn't know how much it hurt her to think about Isaac. The difficulty wasn't for the reason most people assumed. It wasn't because the two of them had begun to have feelings for one another just before his death. At least it wasn't the only factor **.** No, it was because of something she hadn't shared with anyone. It was that night in the cellar two years ago.

 _When the root cellar's roof_ _collapsed it happened so quickly Allison missed it. Later she would understand her concussion had a lot to do with why she couldn't remember the ceiling falling._

 _She opened her eyes to find herself pinned on her back with Isaac draped across her and several large beams wedged over his back, the air thick with dust and the darkness only illuminated by frequent lightning flashes._

 _Allison attempted to reach up with her right hand to check on him but her arm was turned at a strange angle and it hurt too much to move it._

" _Isaac?" she croaked, the dust clogging her throat. She coughed and fought a wave of nausea at the intense pain in her chest and side._

" _Hmm?" he answered. He lifted his head enough that Allison could make out his features in the gloom._

" _Are you okay?" she asked, knowing the question was stupid even as she asked it but having nothing better to say._

 _Isaac grimaced and attempted to push himself off of her but couldn't. "I think…I think something is poking me…in the back…" he gasped._

 _Allison reached around him with her left hand and made a discovery that sent her hands shaking._

" _It's that…bad…huh?" he asked, licking his dry lips._

" _What?" she replied. "No. No, maybe not."_

 _He shook his head. "You're lying. Your heart's…beating out of your…chest."_

 _Her racing heart could have been blamed on any number of things but she let it go. She'd have to level with him. "There's a piece of rebar or something sticking out of your back."_

 _Isaac groaned and pulled his left hand out from underneath him, his fingers stained black with blood. "I think…it's sticking out of…my front, too."_

 _Allison swallowed hard, trying desperately to press down her panic. "Okay. Okay, that's not so bad. You can heal, right?"_

 _Isaac shook his head. "Can't. I have to…get it out…first."_

" _Right," she replied. She reached her good hand between them and could feel where the rebar had grazed her right side. She'd nearly been impaled with him. "Maybe if you could get your knees under you we could push these beams off together. Get that thing out of you."_

 _He nodded and looked like he was concentrating intensely for a moment but nothing happened._

" _I can't…" he panted, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. "I can't…feel my legs."_

 _Allison knew he could hear her heart racing as her mind tumbled through the ramifications of his assessed injuries but try as she might, she couldn't get it to slow down._

 _Isaac coughed feebly and cracked a crooked grin, black blood staining his lips. "I think I'm dying."_

 _He coughed again and Allison shook her head violently as if denial of the fact could somehow make it untrue. "Hey," he said. "I'm just saying…what we're both thinking."_

 _She had never wanted to deny anything more than she did in that moment. Her attempt came out as a choked sob, one that wracked her body with pain. She was sure she had a broken_ something _or two but she would heal. Eventually._

 _Judging by the rate at which blood was beginning to pool around her, from the wounds she could see and others she couldn't find, Isaac_ wouldn't _heal._

" _Someone is going to find us," she said, pressing her cheek to his. "Scott will find us. I know he will."_

 _Isaac didn't argue. He just nodded. That as much as anything else sent Allison spiraling. He_ always _argued with her._

" _No, no, no," she mumbled as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. It was matted with blood and dirt and she didn't care. "Don't give up. Do you hear me? Don't you give up!"_

 _Isaac sighed heavily and Allison could feel more of his weight pressing her into the dirt floor. "I'm so tired, Allison."_

 _She bit her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks and rolled toward her ears. There was nothing she could do. Even if she hadn't been pinned beneath him, there would have been no way for her to move the beams, no way for her to save him. She needed help._

" _Isaac," she said, pressing her cheek closer to his. "Can you hear any other heartbeats? Did we…are we the only ones who survived?"_

 _His raspy breathing was all she could hear for a long moment while he attempted to focus._

" _One," he finally said, turning his head so his lips moved against the side of her neck. "Just one. Can't tell who."_

 _After this his breathing became erratic and she felt a gush of hot fluid leak out of his mouth. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible._

 _Allison shushed him and turned her face enough to press a kiss to his forehead. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay. Don't worry."_

 _Isaac sighed once more and then stilled. He must have been holding himself up until the bitter end because as the last of his life left his body, the rest of his weight stole the breath from her lungs._

 _She would have screamed, out of rage and grief and pain, if only she could catch her breath._

She'd woken up in the hospital a few days later with no memory as to who rescued her or how long she'd been out.

Allison shuddered and pushed the jersey to the back of the drawer, grabbing a long t-shirt instead.

Thinking about Isaac had her too riled up to go to bed as she'd originally intended. Instead she made her way back to Stiles' room. This was the kind of night designed for falling asleep with a book rather than her own thoughts.

She settled back into her previous space and flipped through the worn paperback until she found where she'd left off before. She had just begun to read again when a gasp startled her. She immediately checked over her shoulder, expecting to see the sheriff there in the doorway but he was nowhere to be seen.

Allison could not have been more shocked when she turned back to see a conscious Stiles attempting to push himself up on his elbows.

His eyes were wild as they landed on hers.

"Lydia," he choked out in a voice Allison hadn't heard for two years. "Where's Lydia?"

" _But hearts are stronger after broken so wake on up from your slumber, Baby, open up your eyes."_

 _NEEDTOBREATHE "Slumber"_

* * *

A/N: How are you guys feeling? You still with me? You hate me yet? I don't blame you if you do. But hang in there because you ARE going to get your answers. I promise. And as dire as everything seems right now, it DOES get better eventually. Regression to the mean. Let that be the chant you use to get through this one.

Please let me hear your thoughts! Interacting with you guys is definitely the highlight of my day most days. I don't get paid to do this writing thing (yet, fingers crossed) so I LIVE for feedback.

That being said, just thanks so much for reading at all. I love you, the quiet ones and the loud ones alike.

Luca


	3. Chapter 2

"Nothing Left to Say"

Lucawindmover

Chapter Two

"Here Not There"

* * *

Scott McCall grimaced as the front door of the apartment slammed shut behind him. With his arms full with two laundry duffels and a gym bag stuffed with textbooks, he'd been unable to catch it. He still needed to go back down to get his laptop but he'd do that in the morning. One trip up the three flights of stairs was enough for tonight.

He stopped and listened for any indication he'd woken his father coming in. It was a lot later than he'd anticipated. The clock on the wall over the television read half past eleven. It seemed as if he had the apartment to himself though, no sounds to greet him other than the hum of the refrigerator. Scott carried his load into the kitchen full of dishes and empty take-out containers and dropped a month's worth of laundry on the floor next to the washer and dryer. A note on the kitchen island told him not to wait up. His father was out with Vanessa. Scott understood what that meant. His dad was staying over at his girlfriend's house and probably wouldn't be around until morning, bustling through the door with a dozen fresh donuts and piping hot coffee to make up for his absence. Scott didn't blame him. One of them needed a little happiness these days. The breakfast offering was always a nice touch though.

Scott was a lot later than he'd intended because at the last minute he'd decided to drive an hour and a half out of his way after leaving school for the long weekend. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. He didn't want company nor did he want to be talked out of going. Now, several hours later, he was sure the trip hadn't made any difference. The aching in his heart hadn't been soothed. Neither had the burning of his conscience.

 _Scott stepped into the cemetery hesitantly, suddenly worried that maybe he shouldn't have come. Maybe she wouldn't have wanted this on the anniversary of her death. She would have probably been pissed to know he was still miserable, that his inability to save her, to save_ anyone _, continued to weigh heavily on his heart. He knew she wouldn't have wanted him to blame himself. She would have insisted he blame Jennifer Blake and her manipulation of the dark forces for the devastation of the supernatural community in Beacon Hills._

 _Melissa McCall would not have wanted him to carry the guilt of the lives lost. He couldn't help it._

 _Scott made his way through the headstones, pausing briefly at Isaac's before continuing on to his mother's grave, a bouquet of wilting tulips dangling in one hand. He was still standing there twenty minutes later trying to think of something appropriate to say and struggling to remember whether or not his mother actually_ liked _tulips when he heard another heartbeat advancing up the hill behind him._

 _He glanced over his shoulder to see Sheriff Stilinski approaching with a bundle of wildflowers clenched in a white-knuckled fist._

" _I wasn't expecting to see you here," the Sheriff said, stopping just short of the headstone. "I thought San Francisco was too far away for regular visits."_

 _The comment cut him to the core but Scott suspected that was the intent. The Sheriff was throwing Scott's excuse for not visiting Stiles more often back in his face._

 _Watching Stiles languish_ _in his lengthy coma had been difficult for everyone but Scott felt it especially. This was his best friend, his brother, lying virtually lifeless in the aftermath of the eclipse. Scott mourned the loss constantly but that feeling was amplified any time he sat in the room with Stiles._ _He felt unbearable guilt each time he looked down at his best friend, feeling somehow he'd been responsible for Stiles not waking up._

 _Growing over time, however, was a disconcerting resentment, a gut-wrenching certainty that if Stiles had just woken up like he was supposed to, everything would have been fine. He knew none of this was Stiles' fault and he felt awful for even thinking it. That irrational resentment was one of the things keeping him out of Beacon Hills and he had no good excuses without coming clean about his embarrassing feelings._

" _Yeah well," Scott started, turning his eyes toward the headstone rather than meeting the condescending glare of his best friend's father. "Today isn't a regular day, is it?"_

 _Scott heard the man sigh heavily and after a moment the sheriff stepped forward and laid the flowers on Melissa's grave. "No. I guess not."_

 _The two of them stood for a long somber moment, each lost in their own thoughts and heartaches. Long gone were the days when Scott had seen this man as a father figure. The Sheriff had a substitute child anyway. Maybe Scott was jealous of the relationship Allison now had with Stiles' father. It was another issue on his list of reasons why he rarely visited anymore._

" _Mom would have hated this, you know," Scott said finally, gesturing between the two of them._

 _Sheriff Stilinski crossed his arms and nodded. "Sometimes I think she was the glue that held us all together."_

" _Yeah," Scott replied. "Well…and Stiles."_

 _The Sheriff nodded. "Look what we've become without them."_

 _Scott reached forward and laid the tulips next to his mother's headstone. "Just a bunch of people who don't talk to each other anymore."_

Scott was pulled out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He dug it out to check it and was pleasantly surprised to see it wasn't Allison. Even though he'd managed to extract a promise from the Sheriff to not tell Allison he'd been in town without visiting Stiles, Scott was half-expecting her to find out anyway. She wouldn't have made him feel bad on purpose. Allison wasn't the kind of person to intentionally make him feel worse. Talking to her would have still made guilty feelings present themselves and Scott was dealing with enough of that without her help.

This message was from Becca though. Becca Connolly, the only other surviving Omega he'd met since leaving Beacon Hills.

Scott had always wondered if the curse of being an Omega werewolf was overblown, a cautionary tale meant to teach and frighten. Now that he'd survived two years of it, he could honestly say the warnings were legitimate. There were no less than three packs in the vicinity of the McCall's apartment in San Francisco, one of which was almost friendly, another he'd had no contact with but knew of, and one whose members had jumped him on his way home from school one afternoon and had beaten him bloody. Being under eighteen at the time had likely been his saving grace. Scott had done his best to avoid their territories. He'd never wanted to join a pack, even back in Beacon Hills, and that hadn't changed when he'd moved. Derek had accused him of already having a pack once. It might have been true before the eclipse but that dream died when Stiles didn't wake up. He was certainly on his own now.

Scott had met Becca at UC Davis. It had been his first week on campus and he'd sensed her from across the room in the dining hall. For the next two weeks, they'd both done their best to avoid one another. Scott didn't want any trouble and his experience with packs to this point had been quite negative. The university's campus was plenty big enough to lose her. Or so he'd thought.

 _Scott was late leaving his freshman composition class. While math and science were fairly easy for him with minimal study, expressing his thoughts and knowledge in a coherent fashion was proving quite a challenge. He'd stayed behind with his professor to get a few notes on his current work in progress in an attempt to keep his GPA up. He needed the help to stay eligible for his scholarship._

 _He was thoroughly engrossed in reviewing the red notations covering his essay when he rounded the corner of the stairwell and literally ran into the werewolf he'd been avoiding. The pages spilled out of his hands and he felt his eyes flash gold in response to the proximity of another werewolf._

" _Oh god," the girl said, immediately dropping to her knees to scoop up the papers. "I am so sorry." Her blonde hair was a curtain around her face as she refused to look up and make eye contact with him._

 _Scott frowned as he watched her scrambling to gather papers. She didn't smell the same way the other wolves had. He hadn't been able to catch her scent before but now that he had, he relaxed._

 _The girl froze, her hands full of pages, his scent in her flaring nostrils. She turned bright green eyes up to his slowly. "You're an Omega," she said, a statement, not a question._

 _Scott couldn't fight the relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So are you," he replied._

 _The other werewolf stood abruptly, grumpily shoving his homework toward his chest before turning on her heel and stalking off in the opposite direction._

" _Hey wait," he called after her retreating form. He jogged a few steps to catch up to her._

" _What?" she snapped without breaking her stride._

" _It's just…" he started, glancing around to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. "…well. I've never met another Omega before."_

" _And now you have," she replied as she pushed through a set of doors leading outside. "Congratulations."_

" _Stop," he said more harshly than he'd intended. He grabbed her elbow and while she might have shaken him off with a death glare, she did in fact stop._

" _What do you want?"_

 _Scott opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn't know what he wanted. Not exactly. Nothing he could necessarily put into words anyway._

" _I'm Scott," he ventured, holding his hand out for her to shake._

 _She stared at his outstretched hand dubiously for a moment before relenting and clasping it with her own. "Becca," she said, taking her hand back and crossing her arms._

 _They stood for a few moments this way, neither really knowing what to say next._

" _Look," Scott said finally. "What do you know about persuasive essays?"_

 _Becca frowned at him. "Essays?"_

" _Yeah. I'm no good at them and I could use some help."_

 _She laughed and shook her head in disbelief. "You want to talk about essays?"_

 _Scott shrugged. "The way I figure, the other stuff is only a big deal if we make it a big deal."_

 _She turned away from him with her hands on her hips, thinking. Scott shifted uncomfortably for a minute, listening to her heart rate steady as she mulled over her thoughts. She eventually turned back around and took the essay out of his hands. "The library is still open if you're not busy right now."_

 _Scott grinned in relief and nodded, trailing behind her as she led the way._

It hadn't taken long for them to become friends. Becca was already a year into her English degree and reeling from an emotional breakup with her long-time girlfriend. She was more than happy to bury her pain in tutoring him. Scott was glad to have made a friend outside of Beacon Hills. He'd only had passing acquaintances at his high school in San Francisco. There was something about riding out a full moon together in the basement of the library, playing a beat-up copy of Candy Land between urges to maim and kill into the wee hours of the morning. It solidified a friendship.

Becca's text inquired as to whether or not he'd gotten home safely. He'd meant to text her earlier, when he should have been home without his errand. He'd completely forgotten. He was in the process of replying when he was interrupted by a call.

From Allison.

Scott stared at her name, letting it ring until it went to voicemail. He was annoyed that he'd trusted the sheriff not to tell her he'd been in town. He sighed and decided to call her back tomorrow. It was far too late to get into it with her anyway. He frowned and glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight.

He went back to his message to Becca but before he could send it he was interrupted a second time by Allison. She never called more than once. Either she was really pissed or something was wrong.

Scott swallowed hard and answered the phone, his gut telling him this wasn't a petty and angry call in the middle of the night. This was an emergency.

"Scott, it's Stiles." Allison spoke quickly before he could even muster a greeting. "He's awake."

For a brief, heart-stopping moment Scott could not comprehend her words. He had long ago given up hope that Allison or Sheriff Stilinski would call in the dead of night with good news.

"What?" he replied lamely, his mouth going dry as his brain attempted to understand what Allison was saying.

"Stiles is awake, Scott. He's awake," she trailed off for a moment as if to catch her breath. "He's asking for you…and Lydia."

Scott pressed his back against the refrigerator and slid to the floor, his face in his hands. Stiles had woken up and his best friend hadn't been there. He felt his stomach roll over and was thankful he hadn't stopped to eat on his way home.

Lydia. How was he supposed to explain what happened to her?

"Are you still there?" Allison asked.

Scott cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm here," he answered. "…how is he?"

"I don't know. I mean he's weak, physically. He can't really sit up. But his mind seems okay. He can talk. But I think…" She stopped and Scott could hear her heart racing across the line. "…I don't think he knows that he's lost time."

Scott thumped his head back against the refrigerator door. "I guess…let me talk to him. I'll…uh. I'll talk to him."

There was a terrifyingly silent moment while Allison passed over the phone before he heard the sound he'd been waiting two years to hear.

"Scott?"

"Yeah buddy," he choked out. "Yeah I'm here."

"Where is _here_?" Stiles asked. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my dad's."

Stiles snickered. "Your dad's? In San Francisco? No way. Does your mom know?"

Scott could feel his hand shaking as he gripped the phone tighter. "It's kind of a long story. But I'm gonna be on my way up there as soon as we get off the phone. Two hours, tops."

"Dude, it's a three hour drive."

"Two hours," Scott reiterated. " _Tops._ "

There was a long pause during which Scott could hear Stiles' breath hitching, his heart pounding as he tried to put together the things he might have missed.

When Stiles spoke again, his voice cracked. "Scott, I've been out a while, right?"

Scott sighed. He had no idea how to have this conversation. Two years of practicing in his head had not prepared him for this moment.

"Two years," he answered with barely an exhalation of breath. "You've been in a coma for two years."

There was an abrupt rustling on the line and after a moment Scott distinguished the shuffling of sheets as Stiles must have been attempting to get out of his bed. In the background Allison could be heard trying to calm him down, unsuccessfully.

Scott felt his stomach clench painfully and he jumped to his feet, grabbing his car keys off the counter in the process. He had to get back to Beacon Hills. Now.

"Scott," Stiles shouted into the phone, his voice frantic. "Allison won't tell me where Lydia is. When I was out or on the other side or whatever you want to call it, I could tell she was in trouble. She was calling to me, Scott. She was pulling me. What happened to Lydia?"

Scott stopped with his hand on the doorknob and rested his forehead against the wall. He couldn't do this. There was no way he could do this.

"Scott! Where the hell is Lydia?"

" _I think I'm moving but I go nowhere, I know that everyone gets scared but I've become what I can't be."_

 _OneRepublic "Stop and Stare"_

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. The cliffhangers! I'm sorry. I promise answers are forthcoming. Just hang in there.

You guys, the response to this story so far has been unreal. I can't thank you all enough. And it seems that plenty of new people are now finding Moving in the Dark because of this story, which is also really cool. I've been so stressed with school and this has been such a wonderful distraction from all of that. I respond to every review you guys. I love LOVE to hear what you think so please leave a review and let me know.

Luca


	4. Chapter 3

"Nothing Left to Say"

Lucawindmover

Chapter Three

"Lose Myself"

* * *

He began and ended with her. He could no longer differentiate his scent from hers as he tangled his hands in her long, dark tresses and pressed his nose to the side of her throat, reveling in the sensation of her nails trailing across his back as he breathed her in.

Derek Hale growled lowly, nipping at her neck, soothing the space with kisses that mapped her shoulder. There wasn't an inch of this skin he hadn't tasted but that was no deterrent as his teeth scraped across her collarbone. There had been a time when he wouldn't do this, wouldn't let his incisors anywhere near her on purpose. Fear of the bite of an Alpha and its consequences kept him from allowing himself the indulgence. His teeth could have had devastating consequences for a normal human.

But Derek hadn't been an Alpha for a long time now. And Jennifer Blake was not a normal human.

He grinned as she rolled them and pushed his back against the dark sheets of his bed. This was her favorite part, he knew. She always seemed to think she was surprising him but he was familiar with her tells. He could feel the subtle shift in her hips, how she gripped his shoulders tightly, how her mouth let go of his…all at the same time and a fraction of a second before she used her considerable strength to roll them. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked down at him, as usual, with a supplicating look. He could never figure out what she was asking for. Permission? Approval? Didn't she know by now that she had both?

Whatever she saw in his expression must have reassured her because she smirked and rolled her hips and he saw stars behind eyelids that slammed shut at the sensation.

A little later, spend and sated and ready for sleep, Derek slid out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. It was just after midnight and Jennifer slept soundly on her stomach, her face nestled into one of his pillows, looking for all the world like something fragile, delicate, innocent…despite what he knew to the contrary.

He didn't bother with the lights. His sight was better at night than during the day. He yawned as he dried his hands on the towel hanging next to the bathroom sink. He avoided meeting his own eyes in the mirror though, focusing on his hands until they were dry. It wasn't even a conscious decision anymore, the reluctance to look at himself. It was habit. Any time he snuck a glance the echoes of questions he couldn't answer rang in the back of his mind.

How can you do this?

Who are you?

How do you live with yourself, knowing who she is?

It wasn't just that Derek didn't know the answers because he certainly didn't. He also mentally could not bring the words to the front of his mind. He physically could not make his mouth form them. He tried not to think about it too hard. Any time he did that horrible sensation of worms crawling in his veins would make him reconsider.

So no, he didn't glance up at the mirror. He had no desire to feel his insides squirm around beyond his control.

He dropped the damp hand towel on the edge of the sink and was about to leave the bathroom when a shriek from the other side of the door shocked every ounce of fatigue from his body. He barreled through the doorway ready for a fight, all fangs and claws and fury looking for an appropriate target.

But there were no enemies to be found.

Jennifer was a frightening sight to behold, standing naked on the foot of the bed, her arms spread wide as her hair whipped around her head in a wild torrent Derek could not feel. Her eyes glowed white with rage and Derek shrank back against the wall, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. He knew this fury. He'd seen it once before but the memory was slippery in his mind and rather than fight to hold onto it and suffer the punishing sensation of worms beneath his skin, he let it go, turning his gaze to the floor and waiting silently for her to burn through her rage.

"Someone is going to _pay_ for this!" Jennifer shouted as the color came back to her eyes and her hair settled around her shoulders. When Derek dared to glance up, he found her back on solid ground and snatching her dark dress from the back of the chair next to the bed. She slid it over her head, her chest still heaving from exertion and her eyes narrowed as she searched the darkness for something Derek could not discern.

He wanted to ask what the hell she was talking about but knew better. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him.

Finally she seemed to notice him against the far wall, silent and somber through her barely-contained tantrum. She strode across the room and he flinched as she reached for his cheek.

"I have to go to the basement and figure this out," she said softly, her gentle tone not coming close to matching the murderous intent in her eyes.

The basement. Derek had only ever ventured to the basement once in the last two years and just the mention of the place threatened to turn his stomach and awaken the sensations in his veins that he constantly fought to keep contained.

He nodded and Jennifer leaned up on her toes to press her lips to his. He returned the kiss and then watched as she slid open the loft's door and stormed off to the stairs.

Without her presence, the loft felt impossibly empty. There was no way he'd be able to fall asleep now. He found his jeans and slipped them on in case Jennifer came back and needed him for something.

Derek grimaced as he stood before the big windows looking out into the night. The moon was about a week from being full but he could already feel its pull building in him, his control slipping a little as his power grew. He always managed to keep it together. Having Jennifer helped.

A twinge in his temples caused Derek to frown. He didn't get headaches, a perk of being a werewolf. But as the discomfort began to build and swell, he got the impression this was not just a headache.

The pain was blinding, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut and drop to his knees, his hands pressed against his temples as if his head would fall apart otherwise. He would have screamed and howled in agony but the air had been stolen from his lungs and he could do little more than gasp and choke in pain.

Images began to fill his mind, pale ghosts of visions overlapping what he thought were memories. He saw Jennifer in the distillery on the night of the eclipse, slicing through Deucalion's throat and tossing Peter around like a ragdoll when he claimed she'd reneged on their deal. He saw his loft filled with guts and gore, the remains of the twins and Kali and Lydia torn to shreds, eviscerated into indistinguishable bits of flesh and bone with only tangled strands of strawberry blonde hair standing apart from the rest. He saw Cora's broken body, having been flung through the loft's high windows, sprawled on the ground below with her heart missing from her gaping chest.

He remembered.

Derek watched in his mind's eye as Jennifer forced him to his knees and performed an indecipherable chant over him, enveloping him in some sort of pale mist.

All those false memories of happiness and harmony and love melted away and left in their wake the truth. Nights of terror as Derek clawed his arms bloody to get at the imagined worms, of Jennifer's fury at his one and only attempt to leave the loft to check on Allison and Stiles.

Stiles!

Jennifer had even masked Derek's memories of his comatose friend, somehow building a false story about a miraculous recover.

Derek's head had stopped pounding but he was still curled on the floor in agony, only now of an entirely different sort.

He was ready to kill her. He wanted nothing more than to rip her limb from limb. She had stolen everything from him. She had colluded with Peter to steal his Alpha status, had his sister killed, destroyed the Beacon Hills pack…she had manipulated his genuine feelings for her and twisted them into something false and ugly. Why? So they could hole up in the loft and play house?

Derek felt sick. Literally sick. He scrambled to his feet and made it to the bathroom in time to lose the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Once he was sure he was done, he flushed the evidence and stood to wipe his face with the still-damp towel he'd left on the sink.

Because he figured he didn't have anything left to lose at this point, he chanced a glance in the mirror and was completely shocked by the person reflected there.

His skin had taken on an ashy hue, his eyes sunken in their sockets, his cheek bones standing in sharp relief with purple hollows beneath them. Those questions came circling back around as he stared into haunted eyes.

Who _are_ you?

Derek took a deep breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of the mirror, his eyes shut against the images of the stranger he had become, his fingers gripping feebly at the edge of the counter as memories, _true_ memories, bombarded his already overloaded mind.

 _She was taking him to the basement. It had been a couple of months since the eclipse and he'd known there was something down here but he hadn't been able to sneak down to check for himself. Jennifer never left him alone anymore, not since he'd tried to leave on his own once. He could almost feel his skin moving at the memory and did his best to let it fade. It didn't hurt so much if he didn't think about it._

 _As he followed Jennifer down the flight of stairs, Derek's curiosity finally won out. "What are we doing down here?" he asked as one of the lights in the stairwell flickered ominously. Ever since channeling the power from the nemeton stump, Jennifer periodically caused electrical objects to malfunction. Derek suspected it was because she had more power than she could control, though this wasn't something she would have ever admitted._

" _I just want to try something," she answered, peeking back over her shoulder, mischief playing in her eyes._

 _Derek hadn't been down here for a long time, even before Jennifer had deemed the basement off limits. He didn't remember the place being so congested with hallways, doorways, and closets. Then again, with the abilities Jennifer now possessed, he wouldn't have been surprised to find she had somehow manifested this whole labyrinth herself._

 _When they eventually came to a stop at a padlocked door, Derek was completely turned around. He would have had to track their scents back to find his way out, which he found disconcerting considering he owned the building._

 _Jennifer grabbed the lock and it came undone and fell into her palm without a key. She tugged at the heavy metal door. It creaked as it swung outward on rusted hinges._

 _Derek wasn't sure what he was seeing at first. In the corner of the room was some kind of creature huddled with its back to the door. It had a humanoid shape but Derek was sure no human would have been able to survive down here. No human would have been worth Jennifer's time and energy to imprison. The creature, whatever it was, shivered against the intrusion. The faded rags it wore were practically transparent in the newly introduced artificial light._

 _Jennifer gestured for Derek to follow her into the room and if he hadn't been well aware of the consequences for disobeying, he would have never moved another step._

 _There was something so exceedingly unnatural about the pale translucence of the thing's skin, the spidery blue veins crisscrossing its bald head, the gauntness of the cheek as it turned to listen to the intruders…it was all too much and Derek had to tamp down the desire to flee. He'd never been in the presence of any creature more abhorrent in his life._

 _Jennifer had no such hesitation and strode forward without a pause. She grabbed the thing by its shoulder and turned it around to face them._

 _Derek could have sworn there was a look of recognition in those milky eyes but he didn't get a chance to investigate further because Jennifer was watching him expectantly._

" _Give me your hand," she said, holding hers out toward him._

" _Why?" he blurted before he could stop himself._

 _Jennifer narrowed her eyes at him and he immediately complied. She wasn't used to being questioned._

 _She took his hand and pulled him forward until he was only inches away from the creature. He was suddenly terrified that she intended to make him touch it and knew she could feel his hand shaking._

 _As luck would have it, that wasn't her intention. With one hand in his and the other on the creature's shoulder, Jennifer began whispering some sort of incantation and Derek's vision began to blur. His heart began to pound painfully in his chest and when he looked over to the creature, it seemed to be engulfed in some kind of phantom flames._

 _Derek opened his mouth to scream in agony as his head seemed to split open in pain. He blinked once and then everything went black._

He hadn't been back down to the basement since. He'd woken later with no idea how much time had passed, in bed and tired. Jennifer hadn't mentioned the incident, preferring to pretend it hadn't happened. Derek had taken her behavior as a sign and didn't mention it either. In fact, he'd forgotten all about the incident within a couple of days and it hadn't been until now that he'd even remembered it at all.

Something had changed, had broken the spell Jennifer had over him. It was the only explanation Derek could think of for why his memories were coming back like this.

Derek lifted his forehead from the mirror and steadied himself. She was going to come back up here eventually and when she did, he was determined to behave as if nothing had happened. He was in no state to stand against her, not with his apparent wasting away compounded by the fact that Jennifer had more power than she knew what to do with currently. It was a situation spelling nothing but disaster for Derek.

He needed help. He needed to get out. If he could figure out where she'd stashed his phone, or even get ahold of hers, perhaps he could get in touch with Allison or Scott. He would need them both. Even if he could get out of this building somehow, he had nowhere to go without running to one or the other of his former packmates.

Maybe they had never been officially a pack but that didn't matter now. They had been friends, comrades at the very least. He would need those connections to escape Jennifer.

Derek could hear Jennifer coming back before she ever reached the sliding door. He stepped out of the bathroom with his jaw clenched tightly, only half-sure he wasn't moving to his death.

When Jennifer had stormed out, it had been in a whirlwind of rage and fury. Now….as she stepped back into the loft and slid the door shut behind her, she seemed numb.

Derek drew on his real memories of his fake time with her and attempted to sound how she would be expecting him to sound. "Jen?" he asked, the name scraping across his brain like nails. "What's wrong?"

Jennifer slumped to the floor with her face in her hands, real tears streaming down her cheeks as her shoulders shook. She was crying. He'd never seen her cry before, not in his false memories or his real memories. He wasn't sure what to do now.

He settled on attempting to comfort her and crossed the room to sit next to her. He hesitantly put an arm around her shoulders and held his breath as she turned her face toward him. Her tears dripped down his still bare chest, her cheek pressed to his heart as she sniffled and snuggled closer to him.

In that moment, Derek realized he was really and truly screwed.

Because as much as he wanted to maim and kill her, literally tear her to shreds for the sacrifices, for whatever she'd done to Stiles, for killing his sister and stealing two years of his life…he knew he wouldn't be able to.

Despite his rage and his hate, buried underneath the fabrication and manipulation, was that tiny nugget of true feeling anchoring the spells she had tied him up with. And as she choked and sobbed and clung to him, his heart hurt for her and he wrapped his arms around her, thumbs rubbing tiny soothing circles along her shoulder blades.

He needed to get out of this building and soon.

" _You can feel the light start to tremble, washing what you know out to sea. You can see your life out of the window tonight." Onerepublic "If I Lose Myself"_

* * *

A/N: Ugh. This chapter about killed me you guys. Seriously. It took me three weeks I think to get it exactly right. Please don't kill me. I promise, everything will be explained sooner rather than later. Don't give up hope on ANYONE just yet. Not everything is as it seems. Hang in there. It'll be worth it.

Thank you so much to everyone who has left a review or messaged me about this story. You guys are so awesome and so integral to my process. I don't know what I'd do without you. Reviews are literally the only compensation I get for spending hours and hours at this so even just the tiniest nod in my direction means amazing amounts to me.

Luca


	5. Chapter 4

"Nothing Left to Say"

Lucawindmover

Chapter Four

"These Endeavors"

* * *

Stiles rubbed the edge of his blanket between anxious fingers. He was pissed and tired of waiting.

After pressing him back into his bed with a promise to return, Allison had darted out of his room with her phone, intent on calling _everyone_ , if her excited tone in the hallway was any indication.

Who was she calling? It was just one in a long list of questions she had frankly refused to answer since he'd hung up the phone with Scott.

While waiting for someone to come back and tell him what the hell had happened on the night of the eclipse, Stiles tried piecing together the few shreds of information he had managed to glean thus far and became more and more anxious for his troubles. If Scott lived with his father now, it meant something had happened to Melissa.

On the night of the eclipse, Melissa had been trapped in a collapsing root cellar, waiting to be found or sacrificed. If _she_ had died, it meant the parents hadn't been found. And if the parents hadn't been found…they must have been sacrificed.

Stiles frantically called for Allison to come back. He needed to know if his father was alive or dead. There was no response so Stiles decided to take matters into his own hands. He slung his legs over the side of the bed and knew, from the moment his feet hit the floor, he'd never make it to the door. It didn't matter though. He had to try.

The lack of control in his legs reminded him of what it felt like to be paralyzed with kanima venom because even though he told his legs to move, they didn't. He crumpled into a heap with a loud thud, cracking his chin on the hardwood floor.

Plan A hadn't panned out but luckily, Plan B worked perfectly.

At the sound of him hitting the floor, Allison burst back into the room, phone forgotten for the moment. "Stiles, what are you doing?" she asked, dropping to her knees to help him back up. "Two years in a coma wasn't enough for you? You've got to try and break your neck an hour after you wake up?"

Stiles tried to shrug her off but it was beyond apparent he couldn't get back to his feet without her help. "You know, I wouldn't have had to if you'd just answer my damn questions. And _don't_ put me back in bed."

Allison froze with Stiles' arm around her shoulders, holding up most of his weight. "Well, where else do you want to go?"

Stiles gestured with his sore chin. "Computer chair."

The two of them shuffled across the room to his desk and Stiles managed to maneuver himself into the chair. He might not be able to walk yet but at least now he was mobile. His chair had wheels.

Before Allison could slip out and avoid him again, Stiles grabbed ahold of her wrist, a motion very reminiscent of the night of the eclipse. "Just wait a minute, okay?" he implored. "Look, I get that there's some stuff you don't want to talk about but can you at least just tell me…you know, if my dad…" He had to clear his throat as his voice threatened to crack. "Because if Scott's with his dad then something happened to Melissa and that would mean—"

"Stiles," Allison interrupted, squatting down so she was eye-level with him. "Your dad's okay. He made it out of the cellar. That's who I was calling in the hallway. Deaton and your dad. They're both on their way."

The wave of relief Stiles felt at the news his father was safe was immediately followed by the crushing realization that Allison hadn't corrected him about Melissa. It must have shown on his face because Allison dropped her eyes to their hands. He hadn't even noticed she had broken his grip on her wrist and had his hand clasped between her two.

She cleared her throat and Stiles recognized her Hunter voice, the one she used when she needed to be brave, clear, concise, and devoid of emotion.

She couldn't quite seem to achieve the lack of emotion she was aiming for though.

"On the night of the eclipse, me and Isaac went out to find the parents. We _did_ find them but Scott couldn't stop Jennifer so…" Allison had to stop and take a deep breath before she could continue. "Your dad and I were the only ones who made it out."

For a moment, Stiles couldn't breathe. He had never wanted to be wrong so badly before but the clues about Melissa had been too obvious for him to ignore. Now armed with the knowledge of Isaac and Mr. Argent's fates, Stiles could see all the little pieces he should have put together before. It suddenly made sense to him why Allison was at his house in her pajamas in the middle of the night. She probably lived here. She was all alone now. She only had the Stilinskis anymore.

"Oh my god, Allison," he choked out and pulled her forward into a hug. He couldn't get his brain to completely process what the last two years must have been like for her.

Allison relaxed into him, leaning her forehead on his shoulder, sniffling. Stiles stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard and willing his eyes to stay dry. He had a feeling once the dam broke, it might be a while before he could recover.

No wonder she hadn't wanted to answer his questions. It was too painful. He couldn't blame her. He resolved to try to wait until Scott arrived to go digging for any more information. All at once, Stiles was filled with a burning anger at his best friend. How could Scott have left Allison here to deal with this by herself? Hadn't Scott once professed to love this girl? Why had he left her all alone?

"I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered, his throat thick with emotion. "I don't know why I didn't wake up. I should have. I should have been there."

Allison shook her head and broke the hug. She scooted back and tucked her knees into her long t-shirt, wrapping her arms around them. "You can't blame yourself for that, okay? Deaton couldn't figure out why you didn't wake up but he's reasonably sure it wasn't anything you did."

"But he still doesn't know."

"No."

"Then it _could_ have been something I did," Stiles said. His chest constricted painfully.

"Stop. If anyone is responsible for all of this, it's Jennifer, okay? If it wasn't for her revenge plot against Deucalion, we would have never needed to do the stupid ritual so if you have to blame someone, blame her."

"Do you mean she's still alive?" Stiles asked. "How is she still alive?"

Allison shrugged. "Scott was overwhelmed and nothing went according to plan."

The sound of the front door slamming downstairs grabbed their attention and Allison had just enough time to get up off the floor before John Stilinski appeared in the doorway. Stiles watched as his father's eyes went to the bed first before raking the rest of the room in a panic.

"Hey Dad," Stiles said, a phony smirk in place, anything to hold himself together against the grief and relief on his father's face.

"Hey yourself there, Sleeping Beauty," the sheriff replied with a genuine grin. His eyes were glassy as he crossed the room to clasp his son on the shoulder.

Stiles laughed in relief and pulled his father down into a hug. His father was alive. Stiles couldn't believe how lucky he'd been. His friends were all mourning the loss of a parent but Stiles had his. He would never in his life take that for granted. There would never be a day in which he didn't tell his father how he felt about him. Stiles would love his father enough for all the missing parents. He had to. Otherwise the tragedy would be unbearable. His father hugged him back and Stiles noticed how much smaller the man felt. Had he not been eating for the last two years? Stiles would take care of that too. For now, he'd just enjoy the fact that the man was alive. "That's a nickname I'm never gonna shake, right?" he murmured into his father's shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut. He might feel thinner but he smelled exactly the way Stiles remembered.

John chuckled and held him in a grip so tight Stiles couldn't quite take a good breath. He could feel his father shaking and Stiles couldn't imagine what two years of uncertainly must have been like for him. "Not a chance, kiddo."

"I think kissing you to wake you up is about the only thing we _didn't_ try," Deaton said from the doorway.

Stiles jumped at the sound of Deaton's voice and his father reluctantly let go of him, swiping the backs of his hands across his cheeks and clearing his throat.

Allison took a seat on the foot of the bed. "Hey, I would have tried it if we'd had any reason to think it would work."

Stiles grinned and shook his head, thankful for the attempts at lightening the mood.

The next twenty minutes rolled by with Deaton running a battery of tests on Stiles: checking his heartrate, his pupils, his reflexes, listening to his lungs. By the time Deaton had finished, he'd concluded Stiles was about as good as could be expected after spending two years in bed. If it had been a normal coma, Stiles' recovery already would have been considered a miracle. It wasn't fair to compare Stiles to a regular coma patient though. The supernatural origin of his situation gave them no real basis for comparison or any clear idea of what to expect next.

It seemed his bodily functions were returning to normal though because Stiles had to have his father help him to the bathroom to relieve himself and not long afterwards, he found he was starving. Deaton didn't want him to make himself sick so he cautioned clear foods first. After Deaton left, however, Allison bent the rules for him a little and warmed him up a can of chicken noodle soup. He was only supposed to drink the broth but Allison let him eat the noodles and chicken too.

He was in his bed, eating a second bowl of soup that he was definitely not supposed to be eating, when a thought occurred to him. Allison was sitting in his computer chair with her feet propped on the end of his bed. His father had gone back to work to make arrangements to be off for a few days and to finish up some of the paperwork he'd been working on. The house was quiet and the clock crept closer to half-past two in the morning.

"You've been taking care of me, haven't you?" he asked around a mouthful of noodles.

Allison shrugged. "Yeah. I mean it wasn't hard. Mostly I just sat here and read."

Stiles paused and let his spoon settle in his bowl. " _A Wrinkle in Time_ ," he said, a statement, not a question.

Allison's brow furrowed. "How did you know that?"

Stiles reached over and placed his half-full bowl on the table next to his bed, a gesture that left his arm shaking with exertion. "When I was on the other side, I was trapped by the nemeton stump and I got frustrated and sat on it and then I could hear you talking. I recognized what you were reading."

"But that's it?" she asked. "You didn't hear anything else?"

Stiles shook his head and couldn't shake the feeling Allison was relieved to hear this but he decided to leave it alone.

Downstairs the front door opened and closed again and Stiles knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was his best friend. Moments later, Scott shuffled into the doorway sheepishly, everything about his demeanor screaming reluctance.

"Two hours, tops, huh?" Stiles asked with a raised eyebrow.

Scott grinned and shrugged. "I managed to not get a ticket all the way here."

"Bonus."

The silence between them was strained for a moment as neither of them seemed to know what to say.

"You know," Allison said, standing. "I'm gonna give you guys a minute. If you need me, I'm just down the hall."

Scott stepped into the room so Allison could get by and once she disappeared, he jammed his hands into this pockets, staring down at the floor.

"That's going to take some getting used to," Stiles started to break the tension. "A girl living here, I mean."

Scott smiled and leaned back against the wall. "It's good for her though. And your dad, too. They really helped each other get through some stuff."

Stiles felt that anger well up in him again. "Well I guess they had to, didn't they? Since you left?"

Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Dude, it wasn't like that, okay?"

"Well then what was it like?" Stiles asked, crossing his arms. "Enlighten me."

Scott closed his eyes for a moment before pushing off of the wall and coming to sit next to Stiles on the bed, his back to his best friend. "My mom _died_ , Stiles. You know better than anyone what that feels like. Mom died and I was underage and I _had_ to go live with my dad. I didn't have a choice."

He paused for a long minute and normally Stiles would have felt compelled to fill that silence with babble. He still had the compulsion but he held himself back this time, giving Scott the time he needed to finish his thought.

"I meant to come back," Scott continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "I really did. I was going to turn eighteen and come home. To help Allison. To be with you and your dad. But…time went by and the longer I was away the harder it was to come back."

"That's not a good excuse," Stiles said.

Scott shook his head. "I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm just…it's just how it is." He paused and turned, his eyes brimming with tears. Stiles could feel his own dam threatening to break at the heartache on his best friend's face. "I should have been here. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not mad because you weren't here for me," Stiles replied, fighting to keep his voice level. "I guess I'm mad because you weren't here for _her_."

Scott frowned. "For Allison?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes Captain Obvious. You know she lost a parent, too. You weren't the only one to lose someone."

Scott nodded and looked down at his hands.

"Speaking of losing someone," Stiles said, his stomach a rolling ball of nerves. "Would you please tell me where Lydia is?"

Scott's back stiffened. "In the cemetery, buddy. With all the rest."

Stiles shook his head vehemently. No, that wasn't possible. Lydia was the one who pulled him back. She'd been on the other end of his tether, tugging him through to the land of the living. It had been her wail, her pleading and screaming breaking the veil…Lydia was the reason he'd woken up. He was sure of it.

Scott turned all the way around, pulling one foot up on the bed and resting his chin on his knee. He still wouldn't look at his best friend and Stiles wanted to reach over and shake him.

"How?" Stiles asked. He could feel his palms starting to sweat and his heart was beating out of his chest. "You can't just tell me she's dead. How? How did it happen?"

With a heavy sigh, Scott answered. "She went with Aiden to the loft to meet Kali. We didn't hear anything else after that. All I know is that after Jennifer Blake killed Deucalion, she sort of vanished. One minute she was there and then it's like we just blinked and she was gone. Me and Derek tried calling everyone but phones were down. Power and cell towers were down all across Beacon Hills. So we went back to the loft, looking for Lydia and Aiden and…well…"

Stiles was swallowing constantly swallowing in an attempt to keep his stomach from revolting and bringing his soup back up. This wasn't good. He'd known all along it wouldn't be but he still couldn't reconcile the story being told with what he knew to be true. Lydia couldn't be dead. It didn't make sense.

"It was…really bad, Stiles. I mean…all that was left…it was just parts. Pieces. We couldn't tell anyone apart," Scott swallowed hard and finally looked up at Stiles hesitantly.

"So there were no actual bodies," Stiles reiterated. "Only parts of bodies?"

Scott nodded.

"So then Lydia could still be alive."

Scott shook his head. "I don't think so. Her hair, Stiles. Her hair was everywhere."

Stiles closed his eyes, seeing that strawberry blonde hair in his mind's eye. No. Absolutely not. Lydia was alive. He knew she was. She saved him. She pulled him back just like she was supposed to do. This was wrong. _Scott_ was wrong.

He must have looked as miserable as he felt because Scott reached forward and wrapped him in a hug. As Stiles put his arms around his best friend and propped his forehead on Scott's shoulder, the dam finally broke.

" _We've become desolate. It's not enough, it never is." Breaking Benjamin "Until the End"_

* * *

A/N: How have I not given a shout out to my wonderful beta, MarinaBlack1, yet? I'm losing my touch, that's for sure. She's the best. She pushes me to be better every time and I can't thank her enough for that.

Thank you guys so much for getting this far. I know this hasn't been the happiest of stories so far. It guts me on a daily basis. But I have such bit plans for it. Stick with me a bit longer! Thanks so much for the regular reviewers! You guys rock. And to the rest of you...what's stopping YOU from being a regular?

Much love,  
Luca


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